


Nights

by acosmist_t



Series: Draco Malfoy One Shots [13]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Late Night Conversations, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:08:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28784691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acosmist_t/pseuds/acosmist_t
Summary: Coping takes shape in many forms; sometimes that means hiding from the wizarding world, and sometimes that means late night drives with no destination in sight
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Reader
Series: Draco Malfoy One Shots [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2020781
Kudos: 28





	Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Word Count: 2.8k
> 
> Warning: fluff
> 
> a/n: yeah i was in a fluff mood and what about it

There was cold stone underneath your feet, slightly damp from the humid air. It was a Hogwarts corridor—an unfamiliar one—but you could recognize those arches and moving paintings anywhere.

You were walking somewhere, legs carrying you aimlessly in directions you didn’t care to remember. You had missed this, missed being able to wander through your old school. It was something you had spent many nights doing: exploring the castle late at night while avoiding Filch as if your life depended on it.

You had wanted to go back after the battle—you swore you did. But it was too much, and seeing your home so devastated was an image you wouldn’t have been able to stomach. There were worse things in life than lying to yourself, and one of them was having to face the blaring truth.

That you had to find a new home now.

It was a daunting idea at first, terrifying to even think about what was to come. You had little money to your name anymore, and the only people still standing beside you were your friends. But they had their own struggles, and you didn’t want to impede; they didn’t deserve that intrusion.

But as it turned out, those same friends had different ideas. You stayed with Pansy for a while, but you never felt right there, and neither did you with Daphne, Blaise, nor Theo. Draco, however, had been the perfect match.

He was your best friend. That’s all he had ever been; a solid force in your life since you were four years old. Both of your parents had been put in Azkaban at some point or another, and that meant both of you had that unique parallel. And perhaps that’s why you had felt most at home.

You didn’t have to fumble along with conversations, building up barriers in case your discussion turned the wrong way. Didn’t have to wince at a blunt word or an admonishing assessment. He understood that familiar love doesn’t disappear like that; that even after everything your parents had done to mold your life, you couldn’t sit back and hate them. And you understood that he was the same way.

There was a scuffle down the corridor, some odd noise drawing your attention. You sped up your pace, curious. But try as you might, the hall was endless, and after what felt like walking for five minutes straight, you passed a painting you had seen ten minutes ago.

You paused, scrubbing your face, then looking again. The sounds increased, and then there were words; your name, a silent whisper, an apology, two lips placing gentle pressure on your cheek. Your hand shot up, feeling the spot, and then you came in contact with something.

Something warm and breathing and flinching back immediately as you opened your eyes into a dark bedroom. There was no light flooding in, not yet sunrise, and a glance at the digital clock on your bedside proved that it was only three in the morning. You squinted some more, finding the source of the sound.

“Draco?” you said quietly, voice raspy from sleep. You tried to clear it, but it was to no avail. Your hand found the other side of the bed, feeling for his body. The sheets were still made perfectly—cold.

The two of you had taken to sleeping in the same bed. It was like you were children again, having sleepovers while your parents were out at Knockturn Alley for hours on end. You had spent the night together like that a million times, and the nature of it had almost remained unchanged.

Almost.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispered from somewhere, but your eyes were still readjusting, fingers ghosting over the spot where you had felt the warm pressure of a mouth. “I’m just heading out for a bit.”

“But you haven’t even slept.” You began rising from the bed, those last wisps of unconsciousness falling away, making you groggy, but still half-alert.

Then, there were hands on your shoulders, pushing you back down. Your brow furrowed further as he spoke, “Go back to sleep, it’s too late for you to be up.”

“I’m not a child.”

The irony was not lost on you.

Your relationship was mostly platonic, but recently when you found yourselves wrapped in each other’s arms, neither seemed too keen to let go. He was attractive, sure, and maybe you had pretended to be asleep a little longer whenever he woke up, just in hopes that he wouldn’t let go. But at the same time, he was strictly your best friend, even if you did subconsciously avoid any other romance in case he was ever looking for more.

You’d be happy to oblige.

“Where are you going?” you asked, grabbing onto his wrist, removing the force, but not letting go. “It’s three in the morning, Draco.”

You felt the other hand let go of your shoulder, and you could imagine him running it through his hair, then down his face; his most common symptom of exhaustion. “Just out. Do you need me here tonight?”

His voice was heartbreakingly soft, gentle as he broached that tender subject. Nightmares. That’s when you had started staying in the same bed—when the only salve to a bad night was the touch of a childhood friend.

“No, no,” you assured him, “but you never tell me where you’re going. What if something happens and I need to contact you?” You didn’t mean to beg, to invade, but you couldn’t help it now, not when you still had the shadow of night to take away your logic.

He took a step back, and you immediately felt a chill fill your body. “We can try those electric phones—I heard they work well enough. If we’re going to be staying in the Muggle world for any longer, we ought to get more accustomed.”

You both had found a small flat a few months after the war, soon after you began floo'ing to his Manor constantly for a reprieve from the nightmares. He didn’t like his old Estate, and neither did you, so the place in an old Muggle town became perfect—a breath of fresh air that was no longer perfumed with tragedy.

“But what if I needed you immediately? What if I was dying and I couldn’t figure out those stupid light-up boxes and I needed to know where you were and-”

“Fine. Just in case you were dying and I needed to save you and ‘those stupid light-up boxes’ weren’t good enough. But only for tonight—I don’t want you following me around every time.”

You bristled. “Why not? Am I so insufferable?” The tone was teasing, but there was some hint of realness in the question.

Draco chuckled, low and a touch of fire that warned off that coldness in your veins. “So very insufferable. You’ll be okay with a thicker jacket, but change if you’d like, I’ll be at the door.”

You nodded, though you doubt he could see it, and stumbled out of his room and into your unused one. Lights would only serve to stress you out, so you felt along the walls until you found your closet, grabbing the first thick sweater you could find. You threw it on quickly before moving to the front door, eager to know where it was that you caught him regularly disappearing to.

He was waiting, still in the same sweatpants and jumper he had been wearing since earlier that evening.

“Did you even try to sleep?” you asked as he led you out the door, your breath puffing in front of you as you left the comfort of your flat.

“Not tonight,” he replied, and you clenched your hand at your side to repel the desire to grab his warm hand, goosebumps erupting over your skin.

“Why not?” He brought you to the car he had purchased when you bought the flat, only the most expensive for Draco Malfoy. “You’ve been up all day.”

He opened the passenger side door for you, waiting for you to enter before closing the door, making his way to the driver’s side. Once he slid in, he responded, “I didn’t want to sleep today. I had things to do.”

You could only watch his silhouette in the darkness, the small car lights the only brightness. He was so angular, so aristocratic in his features. Each turn and dip and bump was carved with a sculptor’s hand, an ancient artwork. He shifted the gears, then paused, looking up at the moonroof and to the pinpoints of stars above. His adam’s apple bobbed for a moment, before he shook his head, refocusing on the wheel in front of him.

You gave in, sliding your hand on top of his where it rested on the gear lever, squeezing the lightly trembling fingers. “I’m scared too, sometimes. Of sleeping, I mean. I don’t know what awaits me when I let go.”

Draco released a sigh. Bounced his leg. Toed whatever strictly platonic lines were drawn between the two of you as he grabbed your hand resting on his and brought it up to his lips. Pressed a kiss to the back of it. “You don’t have to come if you’d rather go back to bed. You look exhausted.”

You smiled and brought your legs up to your chest, shifting to face him more. “Don’t keep me waiting any longer.”

Finally, he dropped his grip on you, returning to the task at hand and pulling out of the lot, moving away from the bright city lights and toward the scarcely lit long roads. He stayed silent, not bothering with the radio, and you watched as the scenery became less urban and more natural, trees taking up in lieu of buildings.

The sky was so much clearer this far away from the city, and you could predict the air felt the same. But you kept the heat pushing through the car, thawing the ice of your joints, frost crackling as it left. And when the roads and highways only stretched on for miles, he removed one of his hands from the wheel, resuming its holding of yours, threading fingers, brushing thumbs on backs of hands.

“I had a dream tonight. It was a lot like this,” you started, voice slurred as your pulse slowed. Calmed and at ease.

“How so?” he questioned, eyes never leaving the sight in front of him. Draco had picked up driving quickly—not as quickly as you—but he was very cautious with it, never risking an accident.

“I was in Hogwarts”—his hand tightened—“walking through an unknown corridor. It felt so real, like I could reach out and touch it, like I could rememorize the walls and stones and groves. I wish we could have had a better run there; that things didn’t have to happen the way they did.”

“Me too,” he whispered. “We were supposed to live differently and not been plagued in the way that we are.” There was no reason to bother with half-truths and hidden feelings tonight.

“I think I was hearing you just before I woke up. There were these noises at the end, small scuffles that I wanted to reach, but I couldn’t. I kept walking and running, but it only went on forever. I was trying so hard to get to a corner or a break in the passage, and I never reached one. Not until I woke up.”

“It was just a dream,” he says, a practiced consolation.

“That’s the thing, though. It wasn’t a nightmare, not like that, and it made me want to go back. It made me want _us_ to go back, Draco.”

“We can’t go back.”

“Why not?” you pressed, needing his answer. You felt the tranquility trickle away, drowsiness leaving your mind.

He paused for a moment. Opened his mouth and closed it and considered every potential avenue as his eyes narrowed on the clear road staring back at him. “If you want to go back, I won’t stop you. But I can’t do it. I won’t handle it.”

You grabbed your still intertwined hands with your other one, holding it strong. Pleading. “We can do it together. We’ll go to the Astronomy Tower-”

He tried to pull his hand free, but you only held tighter, continuing. “We have buried ourselves in a new city, and that’s no way to live—you know it’s not. That dream told me that we need to move forward, and the first step is going there.”

“Leave then. Go stay with someone else if you’d prefer that. I’m not going back, and if that’s not good enough-”

“Of course it’s good enough. Anything from you is good enough. But we need to heal— _we_ , not just me, and I’m not doing it without you.”

His hand relaxed in yours, and he rolled down the window, letting the cold air freeze off any pain. “One day. I’ll try one day—but it’s too fresh now, and it will only fester if I open a still-healing wound.”

And that was all you needed. A promise for tomorrow more than sufficed. Because that meant the future was a given. “That’s all I need to hear. Take your time, I’m not going anywhere.”

He nodded, and you didn’t think you imagined the rapid blinking of his eyes, nor the pressure behind your own sinuses. You looked back to watch the world roll by, letting that comfortable silence revisit, all stemming from the grip you had on each other’s hands. There was no stronger bond—not today, or any other day that has, or has yet to, happen.

Then, more questions peppered your mind, but you condensed it down to just one more light shove. Barely pushing. “Where are we going?”

“I was waiting for you to ask that,” he laughed, and another ounce of tension drifted out the open window, lost among the frigid and finite. A temporary leave. He squeezed your hand before saying, “Nowhere decided. I like to drive around at night; it keeps me roused, but still calms me.”

“It doesn’t stress you out?”

“Not when I’m by myself—or with you,” he quickly remediated, making a secret smile quirk your lips. “It’s something to do, to make me feel productive, but still pointless. The only thing I’m doing right now is wasting gas and my sleep schedule, but there are few things I’d prefer.”

“Should I have stayed home?”

‘Home’ was a very fickle word, come to think of it. Maybe it wasn’t so concrete as you thought, because your words felt a little inaccurate as they fell out. Like maybe you never left.

Draco shook his head, turning for a second to glance at you, sincerity lining his features. “I think I’ve been subconsciously hoping that I’d accidentally wake you up for a long time now. Silence is nice, but you’re so much nicer.”

You snorted. “You’re so corny.”

He laughed again, finally pulling to a stop on a mountain you hadn’t even realized you had driven up, overlooking acres of trees and uninhabited land. “If it weren’t so cold, I’d offer that we get out, but we can make do with the moonroof tonight.”

“Can I expect this to be a recurring activity?” you teased, reclining your seat a bit to get more comfortable, staring unabashedly at his smile. It was just as graceful as the rest of him.

“Only if you’d like. I really had wished you could have slept—I have to be up in a few hours,” he pointed to the car’s clock, showing it to be 4:30 AM.

“I’d much rather be here. Those pesky telephone rectangles are too much of a bother if I were dying. I think it’d be better to die out on a cliff than confined in our flat.”

“Now who’s corny?”

You nudged his arm lightly, committing every callus and crease and centimeter of his long fingers tangled with yours to memory. Daylight was so much more difficult to navigate through, particularly with feelings that held no explanation.

Still, you had no response, deigning to pick out the constellations, an ache in the back of your chest telling you that you never wished to go back to the flat. The windows were all rolled up, the heated air was breaking off every chill, every pain both of you had experienced, and melting it down to nothing.

It was blissful silence, and despite your desire to never break it, you did so anyway.

“Will you wake me the next time? I swear I won’t ask questions.”

Draco shifted fully, letting you see more than a side profile. “We can go every night if you wish, but don’t expect me to let you drive—your steering is appalling. And you drive way too fast to be safe and I _just_ -”

“Fine,” you cut him off before he could take any more stabs—definitely _false_ stabs. “If the Slytherin Prince is so inclined to be the designated driver, then I’ll let him. I don’t mind taking a nap while he drives us in circles.”

He pressed a second kiss to your hand, and another chip of what is friendly and what is more flaked off. “Then, I suppose my nights won’t be so lonely anymore.”


End file.
